Akram Herrak

Akram Herrak

The Road Where Everything Changed

There was a road that almost certainly led from happier places to slightly sadder ones, and that passed by ones that barely existed and were to the outside world but a part of the landscape and not somebody‘s home. The road was battered, with a hole here and a hole there, and the cars had to go very slowly and carefully until they almost reached the city, and then it was as first class as any other road that was specifically tailored for city people; but the mules never had to slow down or be careful, because anything is better than what they were used to. Along the road you could see mountains and on top of them were little huts, and in one of them she lived. She was brought up in the traditional Moroccan way, she bowed her head when talking to her parents, her elders and even mere strangers, she never said no to anything except kindness, the things she was told to do were done, the clothes she was given were worn and the ideas she was told were accepted and believed, all with a humble smile and a bowed head.

On that road I rode, the sounds of Dylan booming in my car, and a head empty and longing for anything. Once, picking up a pen meant an overflow of words that overwhelmed even me; these days, when I pick up a pen, the only thing that comes out is ink. I thought that a day driving out in the country would stimulate my barren mind. I was wrong. Ten minutes until I reach the city and my apartment, and yet again attempt to find answers; nature didn‘t have any so maybe a bottle will. Late afternoon, the sun is fiery and a little mountain girl with her little flock of sheep, hungry and thirsty, looks at me with dry eyes that are more ablaze than any sun. I stop the car and hand her a half-empty bottle of water, which she receives with delight and sincere gratitude.

My salvation and hers come at the same small, trivial price: a half-empty bottle of water. The girl is dead to me, she remains on that road with her flock of sheep, a world against her and a mountain of burdens, and I drive away, already sketching what will be my first story in months, adding drama to a life that had none and telling the tale of a poor girl who struggles against all odds and makes it to the very top; cliché, over-done and cheap. That is what sells and that is what I have come to. I am the scum of the earth; I find beauty in misery, ignore the misery and ruin the beauty. I am self-aware and too cheap to stop. I spit, and the wind lands it on the mountain. Life is in my favor.